


Goodbye, brother mine

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Holmes killing Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 05:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Sherlock actually shoots Mycroft in the heart, as instructed.





	Goodbye, brother mine

_Make it swift. No need to prolong his agony._

Mycroft's words still lingered in Sherlock's mind as he aimed the gun once again at Mycroft's chest. He barely registered the red lights and Moriarty's delighted comments. His head was spinning with conflicting thoughts, Mycroft's choice five years prior led to so much needless pain and it was about to get worse, yet he also willingly sacrificed himself, not able to witness Sherlock lose another friend. Sherlock watched his brother, the melted Iceman, sentiment pouring out him. That was the same man who taught him not to let emotions cloud his judgement.

The plane could run out of fuel at any moment, the sooner he was done with this task, the better, there were still lives he could save. He pulled the trigger.

The sudden blood pressure drop caused Mycroft to lose consciousness immediately, the most merciful outcome of the bullet through the heart. No crushing pain, no last, whispered words, no tears. He fell to the floor, blood stained his suit. Sherlock lowered the gun, let it slip out of his grip. There, it was done. He cleared his throat and meant to turn to the screen and demand to talk to the girl on the plane. John's usual exclamations 'Jesus Christ! Christ, Sherlock!' were followed by a cry of acute agony that descended into quieter whines. He took a step closer to the body, he was so sure Mycroft was not conscious during his last moments but he clearly was, judging by the distressed sounds he still produced. The image before Sherlock's eyes did not confirm his fear. Mycroft lay motionlessly, eyes closed, chest unmoving. John pronounced him dead and turned to the screen, asked Eurus if she got what she wanted. Sherlock paid no attention to her response, he pressed his hands to his ears to muffle the pitiful, drawn-out sobs, but still heard them. He realised he was the source of that noise and Mycroft was truly gone. His heart stopped beating, his brain died, his body was now just an empty shell.

John gripped him by the shoulders and spoke to him, the words were just a meaningless string of sounds. Sherlock looked at Eurus over John's shoudler and she was almost as shocked as he was. Her gaze wandered from one brother to the other, to his remains, and she did not seem particularly thrilled about the result of her game. She hated Mycroft with a passion for decades and craved to turn the tables, make him feel trapped and powerless. She reached her goal, but there was no rush of satisfaction.

'Well done, Sherlock,' she managed after a few moments. Her voice lacked the malice he had heard earlier that day. 'It's liberating, isn't it?'

'The girl...' Sherlock did not recognise his voice. The only thing that kept him from falling apart was that girl, scared, abandoned, possibly orphaned.

'The next puzzle requires a change of the scenery, so if you don't mind...' Eurus sounded more in control now.

A sudden burst of pain in his neck caught Sherlock by surprise. His vision swam and he drifted off into the darkness.

 

When he woke, the girl said it had been hours. The plane must have been running on fumes. John was in a well, chained and about to drown. There was no time to howl in anguish. Mycroft's death could not be meaningless and the only way to ensure it was to push away distracting thoughts and focus on the task at hand. Find and free John. Help the girl.

That was precisely what Sherlock did. Solved the puzzle, found the girl, reached out to his sister, his only remaining sibling. She revealed John's location and soon the worst was over. John was standing next to him, wrapped in a blanket, shivering. Eurus was being taken away, back to Sherrrinford. The ordeal was over and nothing prevented a great wave of grief. Sherlock stood there, between John and Lestrade, numb and mute. He couldn't imagine the next couple of days or weeks, the funeral, adjusting to the new reality of the Mycroftless life. Someone patted his shoulder comfortingly, that was to be expected, he was going to hear the same words of sympathy repeated over and over again, followed by hugs. He could not deal with it all yet. He escaped to his mind palace, now the only place where he could see Mycroft. The voice of reason now was heavy with tender affection, 'Brother dear.'


End file.
